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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29230113">haunted by who we once were</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyberPhoenix/pseuds/CyberPhoenix'>CyberPhoenix</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>THSC Rave Week 2021 [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad coping mechanisms, Brief description of a panic attack, Grief/Mourning, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:49:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,981</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29230113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyberPhoenix/pseuds/CyberPhoenix</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Regret is like a thorn, burrowing deep, lodging itself down into his heart, thousands of what-ifs turning the present into a picture show of his own memories. Loneliness only makes it hurt more.</p>
<p>When they're together, even then it sometimes isn't enough-- but having someone to lean on, even just in the thought of it, can be so dearly precious.</p>
<p>Rave Week 2021 - Day 5 - Ghost</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Randy Radman/Terrence Suave</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>THSC Rave Week 2021 [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137257</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>haunted by who we once were</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was a pathetic habit, really-- Terrence didn’t know when he’d started it, nor when it had gotten as frequent as it was nowadays-- but he couldn’t help lingering in that hall every time he was there alone. Leadership had worn on him, that much was clear, and sometimes he just needed a moment to… reflect, let’s say. Keeping an eye on the hallway entrances, he slumped against the far wall, staring at their face. The painting was well-made, capturing their visage enough to be comforting even if it was still so distinctly </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Things went better today than last I told ya, Rands.”  He murmured, gaze dancing along the frame. “People seemed to be a little bit more enthusiastic about my ideas-- I’m hopin’ that if I can pull this off, not only will it get us back in the black, but the world will know to fear us. They… they won’t be able to take us down, I’m sure of it.” He’d heard once that computer programmers would recite their code to a rubber ducky to tell where things were going wrong. He didn’t know jack shit about code, but his plans were about as incomprehensible as it to anyone else, or so it seemed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As for the higher-ups, they… still don’t really like me. Not that I blame them, y’know-- it’s been rough having to clean things up after ya.” He stopped himself from continuing, shifting his eyes so he was staring at a particular spot on the wall next to the frame. He wasn’t here to reflect on what-if’s, he was here to just… talk. Ramble his thoughts to whoever wasn’t listening, and try to pretend that his love-- his, lost love-- was there to listen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Terrence sighed, resting his chin in his hands. Everyday it seemed like he missed Randy more and more, missed talking to them, missed being by them, missed just seeing them for real. The painting was just that, a painting. It didn’t hold the answers. He wished he knew what had happened to them. They’d just up and left, disappeared one day, without even a chance to say goodbye. While everyone else claimed they had no idea where the former leader had gone, Terrence had his doubts things were so clear-cut. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Often he thought about if he should’ve been something different. The past sometimes felt like a painful echo, memories painted over with everything else he could have done, and the mistakes he made highlighted in bright red for all to see. He’d fucked up a lot, back then-- and now really was no exception. As for how that tied into Randy’s disappearance-- well, who knew for sure? Maybe only they did, and maybe those secrets would be locked away only to be known to the dead. Randy… surely, surely they weren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he had always tried to convince himself-- but if they weren’t… did they really just leave him like that?</span><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I wonder if they killed ya,” He found himself saying before he could stop himself, “-wonder if I can’t look you in the eye ‘cause you’re closer than I think. Would you haunt me, Randy? Drive me insane thinking about you, never able to reach you?” Damn it, this wasn’t right-- “I hope you’re watching, you damned poltergeist,” his words felt like thorns in his mouth, “-hope you see what the hell you did to me!” His voice had nearly raised to a yell, echoing just enough off of the wall to surprise him. He clasped his hands over his mouth, eyes wide with horror. He looked around-- no one to see, of course-- but still he felt as if the portraits on the wall were… glaring. As if they were alive, and judging him and the excuses he gave for everything-- surely not, surely--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>--had he ever heard rumors of the hall being haunted? Was it just a tale told to scare recruits, or did it have meaning-- would he be forced to walk these halls when he too kicked the bucket? He was going to be dethroned if he couldn’t lift the clan out of this hole they were stuck in, known as a failure of a leader. Was he going to die-- well, of course, everyone </span>
  <span>did</span>
  <span>, but when, and was there a hell deep enough for his soul, and--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>--damn it! Damn it, shit, he really was going to be remembered worse than Randy, at least Randy was a good person-- he was just overemotional, and temperamental, no wonder people doubted his orders. He wasn’t ready for any of this, he’d never been, he missed them so </span>
  <span>much</span>
  <span> and maybe they’d left because of him? Maybe it was all his fault, maybe it really all was just an excuse to get away from him, some contrived plot to kill him and have Randy return to the clan afterwards, he’d known it all was fake--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.  Ba-dum. Ba-dum. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Just like they showed you.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>Ba-dum. Ba-dum.  Ba-dum. Ba-dum. </strong><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Breathe in, hold... breathe out. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Ba-dum. Ba-dum.</strong>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His vision focused in again, and he found himself on the floor, limbs aching and chest heaving. Damn it. The panic had subsided but the bitterness still remained, that hollow feeling that came with the absence of resolution. This shit happened too often when he dwelled on </span>
  <em>
    <span>Randy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> fault he was in this mess-- standing up, still feeling the heat of his distress, he stormed over to the wall and raised a fist. Legacy, history, memory, none of that shit even mattered. Everything was all so pointlessly temporary, so pointlessly fleeting, that even happiness was only going to be crushed at the end of it all, so why did any of it need to be remembered?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Terrence stared at the painting, looking at how it wore such a smug grin that felt so… wrong. That wasn’t Randy, or rather-- it wasn’t the real them. He’d known the real them, the bright laughs behind closed doors, the quiet moments under the setting sun, the soft tears that he’d always tried to dry, the warm comfort that they always brought with just being next to him… there was no point in destroying a fake. No point in trying to tear up the last real picture he had of them, either. Lowering his hand back to his side and unclenching it, he sighed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He really kept letting his emotions get the better of him, unable to properly ground himself anymore. He felt alone, felt suffocated by responsibility, felt like walking on eggshells around those he was supposed to lead. He would’ve rather haunted this hall than have a breakdown in it, but that was neither here nor there. Wasting time, that was all this was. He had to get back to work. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was no need to talk to someone who couldn’t ever respond.</span>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Randy, I went ahead and called the school, we can go pick up the homework he’s missing after class gets out-- and yes, I know you’re gonna say he shouldn’t have to study when he’s sick, but I don’t want him falling behind. Did you know they’re working on times tables now? </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> still struggle with those things sometimes! Twelve times seven nonsense-- we can make it a game to help him memorize it, maybe? He’ll love that. Did you get him his soup already? He told me he wanted the kind with the large noodles, but they only had the small ones-- tell him I’m sorry about that, and I’m looking for more right now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Randy waited patiently as their husband continued to ramble on about all the little details and worries he had, not about to interrupt his train of thought unless it got out of hand. It was nice, to listen to his voice and just let him talk everything out-- and he seemed always more comfortable talking to them than to anyone else. It made sense, but it was still a cute little quirk. “Yeah dude, I’ve got it handled.” They finally cut in as Terrence took a moment to breathe, “Try not to worry too much about it, we’ve got each other, and we’ve been through worse.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God, have we been through worse!” Terrence’s voice crackled through the phone, accompanied with a hearty laugh. “Oh, shit-- the other people in the dairy aisle are staring, gotta go!” Before they could respond with a brief “-okay, love you,” the familiar beep of the call ending interrupted them. Randy sighed, bringing their phone away from their ear and shaking their head. He was such a strange man sometimes-- but it wasn’t like they were any more normal, when it came down to it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two of them really had been through some rough times, huh? Randy reflected for a moment as they stood right outside the doorway to Henry’s room, letting their son rest a little longer before they tried to offer the ‘wrong’ chicken noodle soup to the lad. They’d microwaved it too long anyways, and didn't want to burn him on accident. Things were so much </span>
  <em>
    <span>different</span>
  </em>
  <span>, compared to the life of being Toppats-- here they could just be themselves, they could take care of their son, they could… live normally.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Being on the airship, being with the clan-- this kind of life would’ve been impossible up there. Responsibilities, loyalty, the fast pace of every week going by like a blur, it all would’ve just scrambled together, without even a moment of quiet to relax and to enjoy the smaller things in the world. To raise a kid there, too? As much as he knew the clan would’ve helped take care of any child around, they… they didn’t want Henry to grow up thinking criminal life was all he could follow. The kid needed the chance to be himself, to have a normal childhood-- well, as normal as they could help provide him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes they wished they’d gotten that chance-- hadn’t grown up thinking the only way to live was to live on the edge, jumping from risk to risk as everything lay on the line. The parties, in hindsight, were more than just a way to cheer up the clan or celebrate a huge win-- they were a way for Randy to trust that they were still here, still </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>, even if just for one more night. To shine so brightly, and make sure no one would ever forget them if something went wrong… they wanted to live their life to the fullest, no matter how close its end felt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nowadays, holding themselves back from going on a shopping spree in the whirls of some nihilistic episode was a lot easier, both because they had more to stick around for, and because they had the support of their husband-- well, him, and the knitting group they attended every second Thursday of the month. They had people who cared about them, for better and for worse, and those people were there to support them when they needed it. They didn't have to deal with this alone. They were coping. They were healing. They were gonna be okay. They had to be okay. They were going to be okay, for sure. For sure.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Breathe in, hold, breathe out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The soup had cooled down enough by now, surely. Life was never going to be simple, never going to be easy, never going to be solved-- but that didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>matter</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If things were going to always be playing a game of catch-up, trying to keep up with the obstacles and the challenges, then so be it. Might as well embrace the blessings life gave them, and cherish the things that made it all the more worth it to be here today. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They reached their free hand up to the door, and gently knocked.</span>
</p>
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